Your Winter
by Bordello.Apples
Summary: After prom...


Sometimes your life ends up coming down to one moment. One moment that can change everything. One moment that can make your smile seem brighter then the sun, or one moment where you realize that you've lost it all. The worst part about those moments is that they usually come connected with some sort of decision. Or maybe the worst part is, you didn't even know that decision was one of those moments… until it was too late. Ashley Davies knew that better than anyone.

The taste of regret. Self hatred was brewing deep inside of the teenager, forcing her to see herself for what she was… and what she wasn't. She had loved, when she swore to herself she never would. And she had broken, after she had promised herself to blue eyes. After years of boxing her emotions away, hiding them from not only the world, but from herself as well, she'd somehow lost that will. That will of strength. Of courage. Of… ice. She was melting, only, there was no one to drink her up now.

Her head was swimming in vodka, the bottle cradled in her lap. Mascara tears were streaming down her face, but for once, she didn't care. She'd let them fall, because there was nothing else to do. Nothing but this. Tears and vodka. Her cd player was blaring music that could be either angry or sad, depending on how you were listening to the screams. But, she wasn't listening at all. Because all she could hear was one voice. One scream. One voice laced with pain. _"Then just decide!"  
_  
Over and over, it was playing in her head. Not the words, because they didn't matter. Just that voice. Just that pain. Because she had put it there, without meaning too. But, what did that matter? Her intentions meant nothing if the outcome was the same. She hadn't… meant for anything like this. She never had to decide. It was always there. It was always Spencer… but in that moment of hesitation, she'd lost everything.

She brought the glass bottle to her lips, not even tasting the alcohol as it drained down her throat, seeping inside her blood stream. She'd do anything to get that scream out of her mind. To get that voice to silence itself. She was in a whirlwind of chaos, and all she wanted was one moment… one moment of silence, of clarity, of… chance. She'd had it once, that moment, but like everything else in her life, Ashley hadn't seen it until it was gone.

She could say she tried. But, it would only be a half truth. Was a text message the next day trying? She drank again. Spencer had responded, telling her to leave her alone. And she did. The bottle in her hands was considerably lighter then it was moments ago. But, she didn't feel lighter. Only heavier. And the scream louder.

So loud that she didn't even hear Kyla slither into her room. But, she felt the eyes. Her father's eyes. She couldn't meet them, not now, not the with the scream in her head. So, she simply brought the bottle to her lips again.

"You weren't at the funeral." The voice was soft, cutting through the tornado inside Ashley's mind, letting her reach the eye of the storm. The broken, drunk girl finally looked at her sister. Her sister whose voice was soft, yet accusatory.

"She told me to leave her alone," she slurred, the words rolling from her mouth. But, they left a bad taste, and she brought the bottle back, to wash it away.

Kyla sighed, deciding the floor was easier to stare at then her sister. "You shouldn't have listened. She's hurting," she responded, tugging at her hair. The funeral had been too sunny. And Spencer had been too… stoic. "She didn't listen to you when Dad died and you kept trying to push her away…" she added, quietly, before spinning on her heels and walking away.

The tears fell more now, the truth hitting a very drunken Ashley, a bit too hard. There was a tightness in her chest, and she was sure, that it was her heart breaking. Only, it was no one's fault but her own. She'd driven the bloody stake in herself. She was the one that twisted it inside, over and over, but never managing to bleed enough to drown.

Her fingers held tight at the neck of the bottle, and before she knew it, she had flung it through the air, watching as it crashed into the door her sister had just walked through. Glass shattered, and vodka spilled over the floor. And for some reason, Ashley smiled at her own destruction. She reached for her keys and stood, glancing down at her form. She was only in a wife beater and underwear. But, she didn't care. Walking to her door, she felt the glass crunch into the soles of her feet. But, she didn't care. She walked out, knowing exactly where she had to go. Bloody foot prints were all she was leaving behind, but she didn't care.

- + -

A bullet doesn't have to lodge itself inside of you to kill you. It doesn't even have to graze your skin to make you bleed. Spencer Carlin knew that better than anyone. She died under a hail of gunfire… even though not one bullet shredded into her. She still cried out. She still bled out. And she still lost… everything.

It was the silence that was hardest to bare. The deafening silence that seemed to fill the room, crowding her, reminding her… that she was alone, inside of four walls that seemed… confining. Smaller. Emptier. That's what the silence was. Emptiness. She couldn't escape it. But the saddest part was, she didn't want to. Not anymore. She wanted the emptiness to settle inside of her, forcing her organs to atrophy. She was decaying, and with each breathe she let seep into her lungs, she was only drawing the decay out. Making it slower. Making it hurt more. Making the silence fill her, making the emptiness drain her. Making… her cringe with every second she survived. Because… it wasn't a second that should belong to her. She no longer wanted it. Because it hurt too damn much to know she was owning it alone.

She lied awake, her blankets crumpled at the foot of her bed. She was cold, but didn't want to reach down to cover herself in warmth. There was no point. She was dead, dying… her screams masked inside an empty silence as both her brothers laid lifeless inside their own silence.

They had matching coffins. Spencer had gone with her father to pick them out. Her mother couldn't… and Spencer, despite her own sudden decay, couldn't stomach the thought of her father walking through a funeral home, deciding alone, which boxes were best to bury both of his sons' bodies. The silence was in the funeral home too. They didn't speak a word, just mindlessly walking, their eyes scanning everything from oak to a simple pine box, which was usually reserved for convicts and John does. They both wordlessly settled on mahogany. The color was rich, the wood smooth, the inside made of white silk. For some reason, it seemed… right. Spencer wished they were buying a third, to accompany the other two. And it took everything in her to not hoist herself up, and lie down in the silky heaven the coffin one of her brothers would be placed in. She'd take their place… if she could.

If she could just… go back.

The cold silence she had wrapped herself in broke, as she heard her bedroom door open. A sliver of light from the hallway infiltrated it's way in, and she was surprised at the burning it caused in her eyes. She had tacked a heavy, black fleece blanket over her window. Somehow, she was sure that darkness had to accompany silence. After all, her room had to become her own mahogany box. It had to be hers.

She'd bury herself alive if the decay didn't catch on soon. If people didn't catch on soon.

In science class, she learned about the light that the stars gave off. It took so many years for the light to make its way to earth, that those stars were already gone, having succumbed to their own silence. Death was everywhere, even in the night sky. And now she wasn't sure how she felt about the stars when she looked into the night sky. She wanted to hate them, for dying. But, mostly she just felt a strange kinship with them. She was a star. Her light was still radiating off of her, giving the illusion that she was alive. People couldn't see it yet… the decay… Spencer wondered how long it would take before her light finally faded, and her body finally let go.

Her thoughts seemed to fade with no problem though, as she felt the dip at her side, in her bed. Her breath hitched. She was supposed to be alone. Glen… Clay… they were alone. And when the bullets stopped showering over them, Spencer had looked for Ashley first. Finding her in Aiden's arms. Maybe… if in that second… that very second her world was still shakily intact… if she had searched for her brothers first… maybe… maybe they wouldn't have been without her in the end.

She hadn't cried yet. Not that night. Not the moment she heard Chelsea scream. Not the moment she saw Clay's body, limp and bleeding on the ground. Not the moment she strained to hear Glen's reassuring voice, but only found silence. Not the moment she finally found him, feet away. His eyes were open, looking directly at her. The same eyes she stared out of… azure blue, wide and unknowing. Spencer hadn't even seen the hole in his throat… the blood, her blood, pouring out of him. But, when she did, she didn't cry. Not that moment, or the moments in the passing days. Not when the priest stood next to enlarged photos of her brothers. Her family. Her blood. Not when the dirt covered the mahogany, the same mahogany she wanted to curl up inside.

She felt the weight next to her shift, an tan arm worming its way around her waist. A shallow breath on the back of her neck made her skin moisten, and she was surprised… that she could feel anything at all. Without meaning to, she easily molded into the body next to her, her fingers lacing in the lithe ones on her stomach.

"You're not alone, Spence. I'm here."

And that was enough. She felt her eyes sting as a flood of unshed tears finally drenched over her eyelids, staining her innocent face. They were dead. And she was dying, because how could she live now? Without them? But… she wasn't alone. She didn't have to die alone… even though the dying part, she knew couldn't be changed.

Spencer felt the girl next to her move closer after sensing her small, crying movements.

She opened her mouth, realizing how dry it was from not having spoken in so long. Not a word. Not a tear. But now… she wasn't alone, and she could maybe do both. "Please, don't leave me, Madison," she whispered, her voice sounding strangled… and desperate.


End file.
